


We Started the Fire

by TheDarknessFactor



Series: This Won't End With A Whimper [5]
Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Gen, Injury, Kidnapping, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Red Room Mentions, Starvation, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:18:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6835003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarknessFactor/pseuds/TheDarknessFactor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was starting to listen to logic a little bit less.  Even so— Yelena had taken Sharon.  And Natasha knew that she was starting to feel Sharon’s absence more acutely as time went on, even though she and Sharon didn’t get to spend as much time together as she would’ve liked.  It didn’t explain why she suddenly missed her so much <i>more</i> now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Started the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual with the stories in this series, this one is heavy. I've given some hints to what had become of Yelena after Drip, and maybe I was a little bit playful with it, but this is the one where reality hits. It's also the one where Sharon and Natasha figure their shit out.
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning: this fic contains a suicide attempt and kidnapping, as well as mistreatment by the kidnapper. If any of these things are triggering for you, I suggest you do not read this fic.**
> 
>  
> 
> I guess you could read this fic as a standalone? But all of the stuff with Ava and Yelena might be a bit confusing, so I recommend you read the rest of the series first.
> 
> Hope you guys like it!

The town that was a few miles away from the Avengers facility was home to a tiny motel, on the corner of Elm Street and Mulberry Parkway.  Four of the five reviews for it on Booking.com said that it was home to some persistent bedbugs, but Sharon always insisted on staying there in spite of that.  Natasha was fully capable of dragging her out of her room and to the facility itself, but even she could admit that they just didn’t have much room for visitors there.

The woman in the lobby beamed at her.  “Your friend’s just upstairs, Natalie.  Room five.”

“Thanks, Aelita,” Natasha replied.  She hid a smirk as she headed up the stairwell, knowing full well that room five was the only one that didn’t have a bedbug infestation.  Aelita was crafty; she gave it to Sharon because Sharon’s customer loyalty was second to none.

She knocked on the door for the sake of politeness— Sharon was a mixture of exasperated and amused whenever she picked the lock on her apartment door— and listened for the telltale noise of Sharon tripping on the corner of the bed (again).  When the noise didn’t come, she knocked again.

“Hey, Carter,” she called.  “Did you binge-watch too much TV again last night?  God knows how you managed that with this place’s shitty WiFi—“

“Watch it, Rushman,” yelled Aelita from downstairs.

Her verbal jab fell flat when silence answered her once more.  Natasha raised an eyebrow, glancing behind her to make sure that Aelita wasn’t coming upstairs, and then pulled her usual lock-picking tools out of her purse.  After a bit of fiddling, the door opened with a click and she slipped inside. 

Room five featured a bedroom with a two-by-two-yard area and a squishy looking bed stuffed into the corner.  The bathroom was even smaller, and not currently visible— the door was closed.  Natasha dumped her bag on the bed and made her way to the door, slipping the knife she’d taken to keeping up her sleeve into her hand. 

The door opened before she could get to it.

Natasha opened her mouth, then closed it.  Because she had been expecting Sharon to come out— looking exhausted, or something— but instead what she got was a pair of wide brown eyes and a mess of brown hair. 

The features set off alarm bells in her mind.

“You’re…”  Natasha cast back through her memories.  She’d seen this girl before, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember her name.  She grimaced when the only thing she was able to come up was a number.

“My name is Ava.”

Natasha took in the girl’s appearance— how her posture was just as tensed as Natasha’s, how she was clutching the old, rusting soap dish from the sink in her grip, clearly ready to bludgeon someone the first chance she got.  She recognized the way her eyes darted from side to side, analyzing all escape routes. 

“Yeah,” Natasha said, swallowing.  She put the knife away.  “Yeah, Ava, Sharon told me about you.  I’m Natasha.  Do you know who I am?”

“The Black Widow,” Ava said.  “The Avenger.”  She put the soap dish back on the sink and seemed to relax a fraction. 

Natasha tried to smile at her, but it was difficult with the way her throat seemed to dry up.  “Got it in one, kiddo.  Can you tell me what happened?”

* * *

Sharon had been shot, stabbed, and had fallen off a building, but she had yet to experience the oh-so-wonderful sensation of waking up from a drug-induced state of unconsciousness.  She couldn’t decide which was worse: the taste in her mouth, or the headache pounding away at the inside of her skull. 

She registered the bonds around her wrists and ankles a moment later, tied with enough expertise that she knew that it wasn’t going to be easy to get out of this.  The room was pitch dark, but she was able to shuffle onto her knees and make her way around the room.  After about ten minutes of cursing whenever she hit a wall, she concluded that it was not, by any means, a large room, and when she almost reached what she thought was her starting point, she bumped into something.

That something issued a grunt, then a groan.  Sharon scooted away slightly, wary of whoever the other occupant in the room could be.  She was careful not to move as whoever it was got their bearings, not willing to expose the fact that she was there.

“Great,” the person grumbled.  His voice— almost definitely a man’s— was rough with… disuse?  Sharon wasn’t sure.

The guy started moving, probably to do the same thing Sharon had done, and so she had to move to ensure that he didn’t collide with her. 

Whoever he was, he froze.  “Hello?”

“Hi,” she replied warily. 

“Sharon?”

Sharon raised both eyebrows.  Who—?

Oh.  Oh, fuck.  “ _Banner_?”

“Yeah, uh...”  He sounded almost as bad as she felt.  Sharon scooted backwards until her back hit a wall, suddenly very unwilling to deal with this situation right now.  Judging by the scraping sounds, he had done the same. 

“It’s not a big room,” she told him.  “I checked.”

“Even better,” he said.  “Put me in a confined space.  Great idea.  Anything else?”

“That was about all I could figure out.”

“Alright, so… I guess that the best question to ask is what the hell?”

It was certainly apt for their situation.  Sharon almost wanted to bang her head against the wall.  She was supposed to be meeting Natasha at the motel, and then they were supposed to spend the day in town, buying cinnamon rolls and making sure that the local businesses were still going strong.  They both had a vested interest in the continuation of the little town so close to the Avengers’ home.

“I don’t even know,” she answered, wracking her brains.  Ava had visited a few hours before she was due to head to the town, looking distressed and wanting to talk to her about something.  She’d barely been able to say two words before her memories abruptly ended.  Her heart started to pound as she realized that she had no idea what had happened to Ava, and it didn’t appear that she was in the room with Sharon and Bruce.

“Shit,” she hissed. 

“What?  Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m… one of the girls from the Red Room was with me when I was attacked.”

Bruce was silent for long enough that Sharon almost prompted him to make sure he hadn’t passed out or something.  “Sorry,” he finally said, sounding pained.  “I, uh… had to repress him for a minute.”

Sharon would’ve face-palmed if she could’ve.  Somehow she’d completely forgotten about the Hulk.

“Yeah, well, in this case I don’t blame you,” she said.  She took a few deep breaths, forcing logic to color her thoughts: there was nothing she could do to ascertain Ava’s well-being right now, so she couldn’t afford to worry about it.  The best thing to focus on was an escape plan.

She started to shuffle around again, this time feeling for a door, but the wall was smooth and unbroken all the way around.  Sharon deduced that there was most likely a trap door somewhere above them, though it would be impossible for her to locate — who knew if she would be able to reach the ceiling, even if she could stand all the way up?

“No door,” she told Bruce.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Sharon sat back against the wall, feeling around the rope binding her wrists again.  If their captors had resorted to using rope, it meant that they weren’t well-equipped, which ruled out any larger organizations like Hydra.  Based on how well the knots were tied, she knew that whoever it was knew what they were doing, so chances were that they had some experience in apprehending people before.  She grimaced, already knowing that she was going to regret what she did next.

She was still able to grab one hand with the other.  She grabbed the left with the right, and pulled. 

Her biting her lip wasn’t quite enough to prevent a pained grunt.

“Sharon?”

She didn’t answer Bruce, instead, maneuvering her left hand out of the ropes, able to bend it at a disgusting angle to get out of them.  She left the rope tied around her right hand. 

“I’m fine,” she said.  This time she didn’t bother trying to cover up her yell as she snapped her wrist back into place.

“Yeah, that sounded _fine_.”

Sharon rolled her eyes in the direction that Bruce’s voice came from.  “I’ve got my hands free.  Don’t complain.”

“I wasn’t complaining.  Did you just dislocate your wrist?”

“Yes.”  Sharon frowned at her feet.  “I don’t think I’ll be able to do the same with my feet, but I’m hoping that I can work the knots loose somehow if I can use my hands properly.  Want me to work on freeing up your hands first?”

“No thanks.  It’s probably better if at least one of us has a fighting chance.”

“Okay.”

Sharon could remember most of her knot-tying studies— mostly because she tended to practice them in her room at the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy dorm whenever she got bored.  It wasn’t really all that different of a setting from the one that she was in right now, come to think of it— minus the fact that she was sharing her space with a man that could turn into a giant green rage monster at any moment.  Still, as she felt her way around the knots, she cast back into her memory to see if any of the techniques that she’d learned matched this one.

They didn’t.

“Banner, you’re a genius, right?” she asked.

“Uh… I mean, some people say so…?”

“Not the time for humility, sorry.”  Sharon shuffled over to him, choosing to ignore the way that his breathing rate sped up slightly at her proximity.  She guessed that it was because of nerves, which… considering what she intended to do, she couldn’t exactly blame him for.  She reached out blindly until she found his bound hands, relieved to find that the knots were the same as on her own bindings.

“Sharon, I’m not sure that this is—“

“How good is your handle on the Hulk?”

She heard Bruce swallow.  “What are we talking about?”

“Dislocating your wrist.  To be honest, putting it back in place is going to hurt more.  I wish we had some ice for it, but—“

“We’re hardly going to find that in our cozy little cellar, are we,” he sighed.  “You think I’ll be able to work out the knot?”

“I think you’ve got a better shot at it than I do.  Think of it like a puzzle.”

Bruce was silent for a few moments.  Sharon already had one of his hands in her grip, preparing to twist when he gave her the word.  She thought she could feel him trying to make her out in the darkness.

“He doesn’t react well to _unexpected_ pain,” Bruce finally said.  “So give me a warning beforehand.”

“Can do.  Three, two, one—“

To Bruce’s credit, he didn’t cry out, though he started breathing through his teeth.  Sharon helped him work his hand loose from the bindings, and then did another countdown before pushing his wrist back into place, wincing slightly at his pained grunt.  She waited for a few moments while he breathed heavily; in spite of his assurances, she half expected to suddenly be punched through the wall, but nothing happened.

“Thanks,” he gritted out.  “I think.”

“This is going to be awkward,” she said, and placed her feet where she guessed his lap was.  She was perpendicular to him, so she had to angle her body in an uncomfortable way to lean against the wall.  She let out a long breath, massaging her throbbing wrist.  Thankfully, Bruce seemed to understand that their captivity meant that desperate measures were called for, and he didn’t seem to condemn her for the pain she caused him.

“This is a tricky one,” he admitted after a few minutes.  “The knot is designed to tighten the more you struggle with it, but I think I can find the weak spot somewhere… might take me a while, though.  How’s Natasha?”

The question was so out of left field that Sharon blinked a few times before it registered. 

“She’s fine,” she answered.  “She’s been giving the new recruits the beat-down of their lives, from what Steve and the rest tell me.  Natasha claims that she’s been going easy on them.”

Bruce snorted.  “Natasha’s never been the type to ‘go easy’ on anyone.”

 _Except you_ , Sharon almost said, but she stopped herself because… well, it wasn’t true, was it?  In the end, Natasha hadn’t gone easy on Bruce.  Quite the opposite, in fact.  In Sharon’s experience, Natasha had the tendency to crash into people’s lives with about as much destructive force as a freight train.  Even when she was being subtle, she stirred up a lot of shit.

Then again, Sharon wasn’t the type to go easy on anyone, either.  Case in point:

“You know, if you ever bothered to call, or write, you could be asking her this yourself.”

His tone was surprisingly mild when he replied with, “I sent her a postcard.”

Sharon wished that she could see his face— and it was probably a good thing that she couldn’t, because she was willing to bet that Bruce didn’t want her seeing it.

Natasha hadn’t told her about the postcard.  Which was fine; it wasn’t like it was any of Sharon’s business.  Still, she suddenly remembered a day when Natasha had called her up ‘just to talk’.  It hadn’t been that unusual; Natasha called her ‘just to talk’ on several other days, but those were usually days when she would hear about some close-call on the news involving the Avengers a few hours later.  That particular day, there had been nothing on the news except more speculation about the disappearance of Malaysian Flight 370.

“Must’ve been a nice postcard,” Sharon finally said.

Bruce gave a noncommittal hum.

It took him an indeterminate amount of time, but eventually he loosened the rope around her ankles enough that she was able to slide her feet out of them.  Finally free to stand without face-planting, Sharon straightened up slowly, wary of how low the ceiling might be.  She met with no resistance at full height, and even when she stretched one hand up she met only air.

“High ceilings,” she reported.  “Do you need any help getting your legs free?”

“I should be able to do it more quickly now that I’ve done it once before.”

Sharon did another patrol around the room, nearly tripping over Bruce when she made it back to him.  The wall’s texture was different higher up— brick, if Sharon had to guess, versus the cement of the lower part of the wall.  Which meant that they were probably in an older building, though it was anyone’s guess as to where, exactly.

“I think it’s safe to say that they’re not trying to psyche us out.”

“What gave you that idea?  We’re in pitch darkness.”

There was a shuffling sound, which Sharon attributed to Bruce standing up.  She slowly crossed the room to where she knew he was, putting a hand out until it found his shoulder.  He stilled abruptly at her touch, before he scuffed the floor with one foot.

“Is the floor cement all the way around?” he asked.

“Yeah.  No digging a tunnel out, but that only works in movies anyway.”

“True,” Bruce admitted.  “A tunnel like that would probably cave in while we were working on it.  Not to mention that, uh, enclosed spaces aren’t really my thing.”

“No kidding,” Sharon snorted.  “And they’re not trying to psyche us out.  If they were, we’d be separated.  Pitch darkness works a lot better as a deterrent if you’re alone in it.  Considering where they’re holding us and the fact that they bound us with ropes, I’d say that they couldn’t afford to separate us.”

“So you think it’s just one person?”

“One or two, yeah.”

She let go of his shoulder.  “I’d say we should comb the ceiling— one of us standing on the other’s shoulders or something— but I’m honestly not sure it’s worth it.  Whoever brought us here wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave us with a way to get out through the trapdoor.”

“They tied us up with rope, didn’t they?”

“Yeah,” Sharon said, “But they also found _you_.”

He went quiet after that.

* * *

 

Apart from a knocked over lamp, Sharon’s apartment didn’t show any signs of a struggle.  Natasha wasn’t sure how the interloper had managed to get inside without Sharon noticing, so she guessed that whoever it was had been waiting in the apartment for Sharon.  

Ava followed her inside, looking around with not a little trepidation.  Natasha was fairly certain that the danger had passed, but she didn’t mind that Ava preferred to stay behind her.  Whether that was because Ava was afraid of another attack, or if it was because she didn’t trust Natasha… that, Natasha didn’t know.

“Where were you standing when you were attacked?” Natasha asked her.

Wordlessly Ava walked to sit on the couch, on the right end of it.  She immediately folded her hands in her lap, and Natasha thought she recognized the gesture from years and years of Red Room discipline.  The thought almost made her bare her teeth in a snarl, but she held back, knowing that this wasn’t the time or place.

“I was here,” Ava said.  “Sharon was at the other end of the couch.  We were facing each other.  I received a blow to the side of my head and blacked out instantly.”

Natasha knew about the blow to the side of the head, but there wasn’t much of a bruise there in spite of the fact that it had knocked Ava out.  It meant that whoever they were dealing with had a good deal of precision, and knew how to knock someone out while causing minimal damage to that person. 

“The right side, right?”

Ava nodded.

That meant that the attacker would’ve been in Sharon’s line of sight at that point.  Natasha positioned herself in the spot that she guessed they were standing, ignoring the way Ava’s eyes were fixed on her the entire time.  She tried to think of an object that would inflict enough blunt force trauma to knock Ava out, and her eyes fell on the upturned lamp.

“They used this to hit you,” she asserted, hefting it in her grasp.  Ava eyed it warily.

“It doesn’t look very heavy.”

“It isn’t.”  Natasha set it upright on the table.  “But it’s hard enough that, with enough force, it could still render you unconscious.”

“If the objective was to capture Ms. Carter,” Ava said, “Then why leave me in her motel room?  That seems more like a message, meant specifically for you.”

Natasha frowned at the spot where Sharon would have been sitting.  “You’re right about that.  There are a couple of possibilities.  One is that the attacker wanted me to know about Sharon’s kidnapping, or that they didn’t account for you being there.”

Ava stood up like the couch had burnt her, shifting her weight from foot to foot.  “I called ahead.”

“I don’t doubt that, Ava.”  Natasha knew that if there was one thing that would make Sharon late to their meeting, it was if Ava— or any of the girls from the Red Room, really— wanted to talk to her.  “But if your call was recent enough, then the attacker wouldn’t have been able to guess that you would be here.”

“I am still betting on option one,” Ava said.  “If I were merely an unexpected obstacle, then they would have just left me here.  Or, better yet, they would have killed me.  You would think I would be more prepared for ambushes, what with the way I grew up.”

She was clearly trying to make light of the Red Room, but Natasha heard the tremor in her voice.  Ordinarily she would give her the ‘don’t-bullshit-me’ look, but in this case she ignored the shakiness.  Eventually, Ava would find a way to reconcile her past.  She would have to.

“I think that’s about everything I’m going to get out of this,” Natasha said.  “I should make sure you get home safe, Ava.  Your parents are probably worried.”

Ava shrugged.  “They are on a business trip.”

Well, she _was_ fifteen.  Still, Natasha narrowed her eyes at her. 

“Is that your way of saying that you want to tag along on this investigation?”

“Sharon is my friend.”

Ava didn’t back down from Natasha’s stare, and she even curled her hands into fists— though whether she was doing it on purpose or subconsciously preparing for a fight, Natasha didn’t know.  She wondered if Ava slept with a knife under her pillow.  If she did, it wouldn’t surprise her in the least. 

Finally, Natasha said, “Well, it won’t be much of an investigation.  I already know who did it.”

Ava started.  “Who?”

* * *

If Sharon had to guess, she’d say that they’d been trapped for about six hours.  Of course, that was a shoddy estimate at best; she’d just had breakfast when Ava knocked on her door, and it had only been about twenty minutes after that that the kidnapper struck.  She hadn’t been hungry when she woke up, but she’d been starting to feel it after a couple of hours, which meant about three hours had passed since she’d been attacked.

The next three hours were spent collaborating with Bruce on a plan for when their kidnapper came to see them— if their kidnapper came to see them. 

“And if they don’t?” Bruce asked her.

Well, she didn’t really want to think about being down in a dark room for an indeterminable length of time, unable to see anything.  After three days, that would become a moot point anyway.  She’d likely die of thirst.

“There’s one possible solution,” she said.  “Third day, last resort.  You’d better do it, because I am _not_ dying of thirst.”

“I’m gonna go ahead and really, _really_ hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Privately, Sharon was hoping the same thing.  They didn’t know where they were.  They didn’t know if there were civilians nearby.  There was no telling how far underground they were, and how much rubble might land on the both of them if he changed.  Sure, that might not be detrimental to him, but to her… well, she wasn’t Yelena or Natasha.  Death was almost a certainty.

Without warning, the trapdoor above them opened, and the dim light that streamed in made Sharon wince.  She spun in a circle, determined to get a visual on their prison before the light went away, and paused briefly to assess Banner.

Unshaven, hair unkempt, shabby clothes that were probably stolen.  He didn’t look underfed, though, and he was sporting a healthy tan.  Sharon didn’t know why she was surprised.

Two sandwiches, covered in saran wrap, were dropped through the opening, which was high enough that trying to get up there standing on Bruce’s shoulders would have been useless (as Sharon correctly guessed).  She ignored them, remembering the plan, and nodded at Bruce, who hurried forward and crouch beneath the opening.  Sharon backed up a step, then launched herself forwards and up, using his shoulders as a springboard.

She managed to grasp the edge of the opening and pull herself up, only to find herself in a dusty old living room.  She blinked, surprised that she hadn’t encountered resistance, when something hit her from behind, tackling her to the ground.  She yelled at the familiar sensation of a knee being shoved into her back, before her attacker pulled one arm behind her back and _pushed_.

Sharon’s yell turned into a groan as she heard her shoulder pop.

“I wish I could say that this was unexpected.”

“Belova,” Sharon gritted out.

“Worry not, Dr. Banner,” Yelena called into the trapdoor.  “Your compatriot is still alive.  Just largely disabled.”

One dislocated arm wasn’t enough to put Sharon out of the game, but Yelena seemed to realize that.  In a move that, Sharon knew, was too quick for most people to pull off, she’d switched to the other arm and dislocated that one as well.  Only then did she let up on Sharon, rolling her over with one foot.

Sharon hissed, hating the way both of her shoulders protested the movement.

In contrast to the basement, the living room had several tall windows on the side.  Sharon couldn’t see out of them, since she was lying on the floor, so she turned her attention to Yelena instead. 

Unlike Bruce, it was immediately apparent that Yelena wasn’t doing well.

“This violates your little grace period,” Sharon hissed.

“Do not speak as if I am not aware,” Yelena snapped.  “I know that this will bring Natalia down on my head.  I wouldn’t have done it if the price was not worth it.  I wonder how difficult it will be for her to resist shooting me in the head, after she sees what I’ve done to both your arms.”

“She won’t.”

“You sound so sure.”  Yelena laughed.  “I think I know what goes on in her head rather better than you do, Carter.”

“What was worth the price?”

Yelena folded her arms.  “You and Dr. Banner were witnesses to the return of Natalia’s memories.  You know the process she underwent to retrieve them.  I want you to help me retrieve mine.”

“You’re delusional,” Sharon said immediately.

“Oh?”  One eyebrow went up, then Yelena moved over to the trapdoor and dropped through it.  Sharon lunged after her, somehow managing to wriggle her way across the floor like an inchworm until she could poke her head through the opening, witnessing Yelena move slowly towards Bruce, who backed away in response.

To her surprise, Bruce attempted a move that was pure Natasha— feinting towards Yelena’s right side, then dropping to try to sweep her feet out from under her.  If his opponent had been some low-level grunt from Hydra, he might have succeeded, but Yelena anticipated the feint with ease, jumping over his leg and grabbing him by the throat, slamming him against the wall.

Sharon didn’t know where the knife came from, but a split-second later it was pressed against his throat.

“We all know what happens if I push just a little harder,” Yelena said.  “Care to be uncooperative again?”

“Would you listen for one goddamn second?” Sharon said.  “We can’t help you because we don’t _know_ how she got them back!  Yes, we were there, we were there for her when they practically invaded her mind all at once— she almost _lost_ herself in them— and we couldn’t do a thing except wait and hope that she’d come out of it.  We don’t know what set it off.  I don’t think even _she_ knows what set it off.”

Sharon cut herself off before she said any more, already afraid of what Yelena would do with the desperation that was in her voice.  She didn’t like dwelling on that day.  She didn’t like thinking about the endless hours during which they sat at Natasha’s side, waiting and hoping for her to come back.

“Get it?” she asked, forcing a coldness into her voice.

Yelena didn’t move.  Sharon wasn’t even sure that Bruce was breathing.

“I can’t tell if you’re lying.”

Yelena’s voice was hoarse, but she released Bruce, moving back to the opening.  Sharon rolled away just as Yelena pulled herself out, standing next to her and frowning down at her.  She looked more like a caged animal than the calm, experienced predator that Sharon had encountered before. 

“So you’re going to help me,” Yelena said.  “However you can.  Then I will consider releasing you.”

Sharon scowled.  “Why wouldn’t you release us?”

“I need leverage against Natalia.  She cares for you both, yes?”

“Yeah, but you only need one of us,” Sharon said.  “Look, how about— how about letting Dr. Banner go.  He’s a scientist, it’s true, but he’s wasn’t able to find any procedure to get Natasha’s memories back, I can promise you that.  He just… happened to be there.  But me, I worked on helping her break one of her triggers in Russia.  And you know I was with her the whole time in Europe.  Objectively speaking, I know her far better than he does.”

Now Sharon didn’t even know if she was telling the truth, but she held Yelena’s gaze, well-aware of the effect her words were probably having on Banner.

“I was under the impression that Natalia and Dr. Banner were in a romantic entanglement of sorts,” Yelena said.

“He left her,” Sharon replied.  “After she pushed him off a cliff, but still.”

Yelena gave her another long look, then walked over to one of the armchairs.  It was covered in plastic, and on top of the plastic was a rope.  Yelena grabbed it and threw it into the trapdoor, looking bored while Bruce climbed his way out of the hole.  He was wearing an unreadable expression as he turned to Sharon.

“How am I to know that Banner won’t find Natalia and tell her where you are?” Yelena asked. 

“He won’t,” Sharon promised, making eye contact with him.

After a long moment, he nodded.  “Why?” he asked quietly.

“Because I do want to help her,” Sharon admitted, thinking briefly of Ava.  “In spite of what she’s done— to me and others— I think that she should get help.  Not that I approve of her strong-arming people into doing that, but…”

He shifted slightly.  “And, when Natasha finds you…”

Sharon smiled at the ‘when’.  “I’ll tell her you were here, but I don’t think she’ll come looking for you.  She respects your decision.”

He still looked hesitant.  Yelena rolled her eyes, jerking her head in the direction of the darkened hallway.  “There’s the door.  Do I need to escort you?”

Bruce shook his head, glancing at Sharon one last time before he left the house.  Sharon was pretty sure that she had read him right, and that he would go right back into hiding as he had done before.  She blinked when, a moment later, Yelena helped her to stand and guided her into an armchair.

“So,” Yelena said.  “Tell me about the trigger.”

* * *

Natasha pressed the ‘End Call’ button, grimacing.  She’d all but exhausted her potential resources; most of the team had been called out on a mission, and Clint was… well, she’d sworn not to force Clint out of retirement, and she intended to keep that vow.  Especially since there was one line of assistance that she could still use.

With a sigh, she scrolled through her contacts.

She and Ava were currently in Central Park, having left Sharon’s apartment in favor of getting lunch.  She’d bought Ava McDonald’s, which Ava didn’t seem to mind, judging by the way she was wolfing down her burger and fries.  They had sat themselves down on a bench.  Natasha’s food was in her lap, untouched.

She pressed the call button.  There were only three rings before someone picked up.

“If it isn’t the poisonous spider that you just can’t seem to get rid of.”

“Hello to you too, Stark.”  Natasha resisted the urge to stick her tongue out (it wasn’t like he could see her).  “Your nickname game is weak today.”

“Yeah, well… your face is weak today.”

“Oooh.  Ouch.  My heart can’t take it.”

“Stop, just stop.”  Tony sighed.  “Alright, yeah, I can’t really play a game of verbal sparring at the moment.  I’m having issues.  But I’m guessing those issues are _not_ why you called.  Why did you call, anyway?  We usually don’t like to come into any sort of contact.  Unless it involves you pointing a tranquilizer at me.  Which I’m pretty sure you enjoyed far too much that one time.”

“It wasn’t a tranquilizer, and I called because Sharon’s been kidnapped.”

He was silent for a moment.  Then: “Give me the rundown.”

Natasha presented everything she knew about the case, knowing that his brain was already a whirlwind trying to sort through the facts and put together patterns.  She heard him inhale sharply when she mentioned that Ava had been with Sharon at the time of the kidnapping, and heard a matching breath of relief when she also revealed that Ava was right next to her, safe and sound.

“I’m assuming you want me to hack any and all cameras around her apartment building at around the time of the abduction,” he said.

“You assume correctly.  Mostly I want to have some inkling of _where_ they might be headed.  I already have a pretty good idea of _who_ took her.”

“Really?  Because I’m stumped.”

“Think about it, Stark.”  Natasha finally worked up the courage to eat a fry, ignoring the churning in the pit of her stomach.  “Ava and I worked out that there are two motivations for Ava being left in Sharon’s hotel room: one being that the kidnapper wasn’t expecting Ava to be there and moved her there to keep her out of the way— though killing her would’ve been easier, and they shouldn’t have known where I would be— or two, they left her there as a message.  There’s only one person who could fit both of those motives.”

Tony’s voice is flat.  “Belova.”

“Nice deductive reasoning.”

“Hey, I _am_ a genius.”  There was a clacking sound.  “I’m going to see if I can run a facial recognition on her throughout the city.  Then we’ll probably have an even better idea of where she’s hiding.”

Natasha smiled.  “You read my mind, Stark.”  She wasn’t going to say that great minds think alike.  Ever.

She managed to eat a few more fries while she waited, willing herself not to fidget with impatience.  Ava wasn’t having as much luck in that department, idly tapping her right foot on top of one of the leaves that rested on the ground.  The leaf was brown from the cold, and it made a crunching noise whenever Ava brought her foot down.

Wordlessly, Natasha offered her some of her fries.  Ava took them without a reply.

“O…kay, so… one match.  But only one.  In Hell’s Kitchen.”

Natasha put the phone on speaker, pulling it away from her ear and staring at the photo.  Yelena wasn’t exactly trying to hide; her hair wasn’t dyed, nor was it pulled into a ponytail of some kind.  She was sending a polite smile to the cashier, one hand on a purchase that Natasha couldn’t see from the camera angle.  Something about the photo was inherently wrong, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“What should we do in Hell’s Kitchen?  Go from door-to-door?  That place is kinda wild, from what I hear.”

Natasha frowned.  “You mean the Devil?”

“Well, yeah, there’s that guy.  There was also the rumor about the mind-control-y guy last year.”

“Never mind them.”  An idea sprang into Natasha’s mind.  “I know someone who might be able to help.  Thanks, Stark.”

“You should call more, Nat,” Stark said abruptly.  “We can talk about… things.”

Natasha knew exactly what ‘things’ was.

“Yeah,” she replied.  “Maybe.”

* * *

Sharon vaguely wondered how long a limb could stay safely dislocated.  Not that there was really such a thing as a ‘safe’ dislocation, but she wanted to know how long she had before her arms stopped being able to function completely, or something.  She didn’t like the sensation that she could move her upper body from side-to-side, and her arms would just… flap around her.

Still, at least she was allowed the dignity of a chair.

She had told the entire story about Natasha trying to get rid of her trigger, though she left out Barnes’ identity.  Even though Yelena had snapped at her for that, Sharon pointed out that Yelena didn’t exactly have anything to hold over her now that Bruce was gone.

“You think I cannot find him again?” Yelena said, raising an eyebrow.

“No, but I know that you won’t.  I’m keeping you preoccupied.”

Yelena looked almost bored.  “It would be easy for me to throw you back down there.  And don’t think I’ll put your arms back into place before I do.”

Sharon reflected that she had yet to really realize just how messed up her situation was, but sometimes it was difficult for her to remember that she was still just a normal woman in a world full of strange beings.  She was pretty sure that she could deal with Yelena, but her arms served as a reminder that she didn’t really have much choice other than stalling and hoping that Yelena saw sense.

“There is a flaw in this,” Yelena said.

“What flaw?”

“I do not know my trigger words.”

Sharon hid a wince.  The thought had crossed her mind, but she had deliberately not mentioned it, trying to delay the moment when Yelena would realize that.  She didn’t particularly want Yelena to have a flashback without knowing a trigger, either, so that was her plan botched.  She was never all that great at playing it by ear.

“Well, uh…”

Yelena glared at her.  “You really _are_ useless, aren’t you?”

“You know, last time you severely injured me, you complimented me and wanted to recruit me.”

Yelena waved her hand at her.  “This is not a severe injury.”

Sharon gaped at her.  She had to be joking.

Abruptly, Yelena stood.  “Would you like some water?”  Without waiting for an answer, she marched into the kitchen, leaving Sharon alone with only the sound of clinking glasses to keep her company.  She took the brief respite from Yelena’s presence (and only now that she was gone did she realize just how heavy being around the other woman felt), and glanced out the window, where she could only see a brick wall.  It must’ve been some kind alleyway.  At any rate it didn’t make Sharon feel much better about her situation, and it didn’t give her an insight into where she was.

The most she could say was that she was probably somewhere on the east coast of the United States.  But beyond that?

Yelena returned a moment later, walking over to her and holding a glass of water to her lips.  Sharon drank greedily, suddenly aware of just how thirsty she was after going nearly the entire day without water.  Yelena allowed her to down the entire glass before she went back to the kitchen, returning empty-handed a moment later.

Sharon decided that it would be a good time to play her next card.  “Natasha’s told me a bit about what it was like for her.  Back when she first escaped the Red Room.”

Yelena was silent, but she sat back down onto her chair and cocked her head to the side to show her interest.  Sharon grimaced, knowing that she couldn’t reveal too much, and hoped that she wasn’t betraying Natasha’s trust.

“She told me that she worked as a mercenary for a while.  But when you’re a merc, the ops aren’t usually as covert, so… she started gaining a more noticeable reputation.  She also had pretty frequent flashbacks.  Basically, she was a mess.  Mentally unstable, self-loathing, just trying to figure out how to survive in a world without the Red Room.

“After S.H.I.E.L.D. took her in, the psychologists started helping her to rehabilitate.  The flashbacks eventually stopped— I mean, not completely, but they slowed down a lot.  She had steady work.  She made a friend.”

“Clint Barton,” Yelena recited.  “The Hawkeye.”

“Yeah.”  Sharon felt slightly nervous that Yelena knew about him.  “My point is, if what you’re going through is anything like what she was going through, then we can help you.  I think Natasha would want that.”

Yelena stared at her blankly.  “That kind of help is not required.”

For a reason that Sharon couldn’t identify, she felt a chill go down her spine.  She tried to lean away from Yelena a bit, her instincts screaming at her to put some distance between herself and the other woman, but even as she tensed up, Yelena did nothing.  She didn’t move.  She didn’t speak.  Her eyes, fixated on Sharon though they were, seemed to be almost dead.  Sharon swallowed when she realized that the thing most like Yelena at the moment was a corpse.

“Your fear is not unfounded,” Yelena said.

Sharon cursed herself for telegraphing.

Yelena got up again, moving towards the front hallway.  She motioned for Sharon to follow, and Sharon stood carefully, not wanting to fall over.  She and Yelena went up the stairs of the old town home, where there were two bedrooms.  One was clearly lived in, indicating that Yelena had been here for some time, while the other still sported a thick layer of dust.

Sharon sighed.  “Thanks for providing a bed, I guess.”

Yelena didn’t answer, turning to her own room and slamming the door shut.

* * *

Natasha was surprised to see that the door had an actual window fitted into it, but she didn’t hesitate to knock, her knuckles rapping sharply on the glass.  Ava stood next to her, standing with the same unnatural stillness that had been integrated into Natasha long ago.  She almost wished that Ava would fidget, like most teenagers would do in this kind of situation.  Especially because Natasha hadn’t explained where they were going.

There was a muffled curse through the doorway before it opened a crack, and one bleary eye peeked out.  Another curse, and the door opened wider.

“Y’know, after I found out that my ditzy redhead client from two years back was the Black Widow, I swore next time I saw her I’d punch her in the face.”

Natasha wasn’t surprised that she’d figured out who she was.  That was the reason why she was coming to this particular P.I. in the first place.

“You gonna make good on your word, Jones?” she asked.

Jessica snorted, taking a step back and folding her arms.  “Not in front of the kid.  Why the fuck are _you_ hanging with a kid, anyway?”

Natasha smiled sweetly.  “I’ll explain if you let us in.”

Jessica eyed her, and then eyed Ava, gaze narrowing slightly.  Natasha mirrored her posture, waiting while Jessica weighed the pros and cons of allowing Natasha to re-enter her life again.  Ava finally made a tiny motion of discomfort, scuffing one toe along the ground, though she met Jessica’s trademark grumpy glare head on.

“Fine,” Jessica grumbled.  “Your case was more interesting than what most people bring to me these days, anyway.  Even if I did wind up in a sewer because of it.  You’re Russian or whatever, right?  You want vodka or something?”

Natasha shook her head, following Jessica into her ‘office’, listening to the click of the door closing behind them.  The last time she’d been here it hadn’t looked all that different, but she noticed that Jessica seemed to be making more of an effort to tidy up nowadays.  She also noted that Jessica’s alcohol collection had substantially lessened, there was a bit more pink in her cheeks, and she appeared to be gaining muscle mass.

Huh.  Good for her.

“So what d’you got for me?” Jessica drawled, collapsing into her desk chair.

“Missing persons case.  This is Sharon Carter.”  Natasha brought up a picture of herself and Sharon on her phone, zooming in so that only Sharon was visible before sliding it over to Jessica, who sat up, already looking interested (and a little apprehensive). 

“Sorry,” she said gruffly, apparently guessing that Natasha had noticed her trepidation.  “Last time someone brought me a missing persons case, everything went to shit.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, but decided not to bring up the rumors in Hell’s Kitchen about a man who could control people’s minds.  “Well, I hate to say it, but this is personal.  You mind snapping a pic of that so that I can bring up another photo on my phone?”

Jessica did as she asked, then (while she waited), turned to Ava.  “So, kid, I gotta ask: how’d you end up tailing Black Widow?  She’s not training you to be a mini-spy or something, is she?”

Natasha controlled her knee-jerk reaction to those words, knowing that Jessica wasn’t being serious.  Ava, however, bristled.

“She is one of the reasons why I am not becoming a mini-spy,” she replied.

Jessica raised both of her hands.  “Hey, okay.  That’s good.  I’m always happy to hear that people aren’t being brainwashed.”

Her tone was casual, but Natasha didn’t miss the way Jessica gripped the edge of her desk as she said it, her knuckles turning white.  Neither did Ava, if the sudden uncertainty in her expression was anything to go by.

Natasha found the picture of Yelena that she had and slid that before Jessica as well.  “This is the woman who kidnapped her.  She’s called Yelena Belova.  She’s been a fugitive for about a year now.  I don’t know why she’s taken Sharon now, even though I know for a fact that she’s had plenty of opportunities to do so.”

She realized her mistake a moment too late, as Ava leaned forward with interest.  She watched as Ava’s mouth formed the syllables of Yelena’s name silently, a sudden longing in her gaze that even all her years of training couldn’t erase.  Natasha closed her eyes and cursed inwardly.

Jessica didn’t seem to notice.  “You think they’re in Hell’s Kitchen somewhere?”

“From what I’ve been able to gather from surveillance cams, yes.”

“Huh.”  But Natasha could tell that she had Jessica’s attention.  “Alright, so… this is going to be kind of tough if I don’t have any legal records to go on.  You know anything about their credit cards, aliases, fake names, bank statements…?”

“Yelena doesn’t legally exist,” Natasha admitted, “And she’s not stupid enough to use anything of Sharon’s.”

“That makes it harder.  You’ll have to pay a higher fee.”

Natasha smirked slightly, thinking of Stark.  “I can do that.”

“If you couldn’t, I’d punt you out of my office.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jessica grumbled.  “Lemme get out a contract— just a sec…”

Natasha waited, and Ava sat down on one of Jessica’s spare chairs.  She had a contemplative look on her face, one which almost universally meant trouble, but Natasha decided that this wasn’t the time to deal with it.  A moment later she was signing one of Jessica’s contracts and shaking her hand, hiding a wince when Jessica gripped hers a little tighter than was necessary.

“I’ll call you when I find something,” Jessica said.  “I’m assuming you want me to alert you before I actually try to get her out?”

“That’d be nice.”

“You’re lucky you’re effective.  Most people tend to get in my way.”

Natasha smiled her shark’s smile.  She knew a thing or two about staying out of the way of enhanced beings while in combat.  If Jessica was bothered by her smile, she didn’t show it, jerking her head towards the door in a clear indication that Natasha was to get the hell out.

* * *

Sharon let loose about five different French curses when Yelena popped her right shoulder back into place.

Her left arm was still all but useless, but Yelena seemed confident enough that she could prevent Sharon from trying to escape.  She might have even started to believe that Sharon didn’t _want_ to escape— which wasn’t strictly true.  In spite of the fact that Sharon really did want to help Yelena, she also couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.  It was an itch between her shoulder blades, making her frown more often than not.

Yelena had woken up before her.  On her way downstairs, Sharon caught a glimpse of the kitchen and noticed there were white ceramic shards on the floor.  She had a sinking feeling at the sight, able to guess rather easily at what the cause was.

“Sit,” Yelena instructed.  Sharon sat on the same chair as yesterday, eyeing the (now closed) trapdoor.  Yelena went into the kitchen and emerged with an icepack and a hardcover book, both of which she held out for Sharon to take.  Sharon pressed the icepack against her throbbing shoulder, holding it there using the back of the chair and making a mental note to get it checked out as soon as she had access to a proper medical facility.  She balanced the book on her knee.

“It’s a Russian dictionary,” Yelena said.  “You’re going to go through every word in it, until one of them incapacitates me.  Or does something else.”

“You know I can’t read Russian?”

“There are phonetic spellings,” Yelena deadpanned.

“Oh good.”  Sharon wondered if Yelena heard the sarcasm in her voice.  She opened the book, flipping through the introduction until she found the first section, and then started to recite the words she came across.

The worst part about it, she decided, was that Yelena didn’t move a muscle the entire time.  She didn’t even appear to breathe as they both waited for one of the words to drop her like a stone.  Sharon kept going until one hour trickled by, followed by two, and then the rumbling in her stomach interrupted her.

Yelena stared at her.  Sharon stared back, then looked back down at the pages and kept reading.

She wasn’t even halfway through the alphabet when Yelena stood up and left the room.  Sharon stopped reading, leaning back in her chair with a sigh and noticing just how dry her mouth was.  She closed her eyes, trying to empty her mind of everything, but it was proving more difficult with hunger and thirst beginning to weigh on her.  She knew that Yelena would at least provide water, but only just enough to keep her alive.  It seemed she was going to do the same with food— which meant that Sharon probably wouldn’t receive a meal until about two weeks from now.

Sharon had to wonder if Yelena even knew that this was a torture technique.  Denying her food, water, and proper medical attention— her left arm was _still_ dislocated— wasn’t the most obvious tactic, but it was an effective one if the cards were played right.  Sharon felt a bit like she was in a horror film of some kind, despite the detachment with which she regarded what had happened to her.  Being alone with someone who had shot her in the knee in a deliberate attempt to cause her pain wasn’t exactly her idea of fun.

_So why do I want to help her?_

She knew the answer.  She knew it, and she didn’t want to know it; acknowledging it would mean acknowledging that she wanted the impossible, and Sharon Carter was far too pragmatic to ever crave that.  The surge of loneliness from that thought was unexpected, but she didn’t let her throat close up, and she didn’t allow tears to fall.  Most likely the things that Yelena perceived as weaknesses would only be exploited here.

She almost wished Banner was still here.  He would probably understand.

Sharon didn’t know where Yelena had gone, but it had been about five minutes without any sign of her returning, so she stood up and explored the townhouse a bit further.  The kitchen still had pieces of ceramic on the ground, which she stepped around, but the cabinets were fashioned from a dark wood that probably looked very mellow when it wasn’t covered in dust.  There wasn’t a back door, and the front door was bolted shut from the outside, so Sharon noted her chances of escape were low.  The upstairs windows were an option, but again, she didn’t necessarily want to escape.

She knew that she should.  And yet she stayed.

The upstairs windows also provided a vantage point that she had been sorely lacking, and she was surprised to see that it looked… well, it could’ve been any city, but it looked like New York, which meant that she hadn’t gone very far at all.  Which meant that Bruce had to have been taken first; she was pretty sure that he had been hiding out somewhere in Asia.

She took advantage of Yelena’s absence to use the bathroom (last time, Yelena had stood just outside the door, which made Sharon oddly self-conscious) before finishing her tour up with figuring out which household items would make good weapons if push came to shove.  Yelena didn’t seem to have a gun with her, for some reason, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

She was back in her chair by the time Yelena returned.  Yelena gave her a sharp nod, and Sharon resumed reading.

She only got through one more letter before Yelena stopped her again.

“Why do you call her Natasha?”

Sharon paused, her mouth still open.  “That’s how she introduced herself to me.  That’s what everyone calls her these days.”

“She was born Natalia.”

“I’m pretty sure that even _you_ don’t know that for sure.”  Yelena recoiled slightly at her words, but Sharon kept speaking.  “Look, just… not everything is dictated by birth, and I think Natasha wanted to recreate herself after her defection.  So she picked a different name.  That’s all.”

“And she has told you this?”

“No.  But I know her.”  That much, at least, Sharon could say with confidence.  She had never wanted to pressure Natasha into discussing herself, but she was getting better and better at picking up subtle cues from her— more often than not from what she _didn’t_ say, as opposed to what she said.  The best way to read Natasha Romanoff was to listen for silences, not words.

Yelena shook her head.  “It should just be another alias.”

“What, like Lana?”

“I rather liked that one.”  Yelena’s grin bore an uncanny resemblance to Natasha’s most threatening smile.

Sharon sighed.  “The point is Natasha didn’t want to be what the Red Room made her into.  What it made both of you into.”

Yelena’s face closed up again.  “I see.”

Sharon had a feeling that she really, really didn’t.  At all.

* * *

“Kitchen’s this way,” Natasha announced.  “I don’t know a thing about cooking, really, but I’m sure there’s a frozen pizza or something that I can heat up.  Unless you wanted something specific for dinner?  We can order takeout.”

Ava shook her head. 

The Avengers compound didn’t appear to faze Ava, but her curiosity certainly seemed to be piqued, judging by the way her head kept swiveling from side-to-side to take in the sights.  Natasha knew that Maria would disapprove of her bringing a child in here (even if that child was fifteen), but she also knew that she wasn’t going to give Maria a choice in the matter.

Sam and Steve were in the kitchen when she arrived.  They both greeted her, but seemed to freeze in surprise at the appearance of Ava. 

Ava, by contrast, kept her face blank (Natasha winced again).  “Captain Rogers.  Falcon.”

“This is Ava,” Natasha said.  “She’s going to be spending the night.”

No explanation, other than that.  She didn’t think they would need one; they were smart enough to figure out who Ava was (or rather, who she used to be).  Ava, for her part, made her way to the kitchen island and sat herself upon one of the stools, studying first Steve and then Sam intently before solemnly holding out her hand for them to shake.

“It’s nice to meet you both.”

Natasha thanked god that Sam Wilson existed, as he shook Ava’s hand with a grin.  “Right back at you.  How’s life in high school?”

Natasha could swear she heard a dry tone in Ava’s response.  “I believe I intimidate my peers in physical education.”

“Wimps,” Sam said.

Natasha rolled her eyes, digging through the freezer and proving herself right when she fished out a pizza box.  “How was the mission?”

“Pretty standard,” Steve said, his eyes traveling to Ava, then back to Natasha, who gave him a tiny nod.  “We cleaned out a bunker where some nukes were rumored to be stored at.  The nukes weren’t there, but we managed to stop some dirty bombs from going off.  No casualties on our side.  Not even any injuries.  I’m sorry we couldn’t help you look for Sharon.”

Natasha’s shoulders slumped.  Maria had probably told him.

“It’s fine,” she said.  “I found some outside assistance.  She’s probably better at this than we are anyway.”

Steve shot her a questioning look.

“I’m sworn to secrecy.”

He shrugged, though he still looked curious.  “At any rate, if your outside help figures out where Sharon’s being held, I’m prepared to get the team together to get her out.  Or maybe not the whole team, but Wanda’s your best shot at subduing Belova without bloodshed, and she’s not a match for you and me.”

Natasha’s eyebrows both shot up.  “You knew it was Belova?”

“She’s the only person who makes sense,” Sam piped up.  Across from, Ava wore a speculative frown.

Natasha, having slid the pizza into the oven, plopped onto the stool across from Steve.  “Well, nice job in figuring that part out.  The only thing I can’t figure out is why Yelena would’ve taken Sharon.  She’s probably had ample opportunity to do so before, so why now?”

“I’m not 100 percent sure that Belova’s capable of reason at the moment,” Steve admitted.  “I’m sorry, Nat, but that’s just… that’s the way it seems to be.  She was never all that stable when we were holding her at the tower, either.  And from what you and Sharon said about her afterwards… I think it’s time we brought her back in, and kept her from being a threat.”

Logically, Natasha knew that he was correct.  Logically, she knew that her reluctance was selfish. 

She was starting to listen to logic a little bit less.  Even so— Yelena had taken Sharon.  And Natasha knew that she was starting to feel Sharon’s absence more acutely as time went on, even though she and Sharon didn’t get to spend as much time together as she would’ve liked.  It didn’t explain why she suddenly missed her so much _more_ now.

 _It’s worry,_ she thought.  _It happens._

“I know,” she said.

They all sat in silence for a little while, before Sam steered the conversation in a lighter direction.  He continued to ask Ava about school, about home life, about the friends she’d made.  And she had, it seemed, made friends, albeit ones that were apparently outside the usual social circles.  This pattern was one that Ava had noticed, and she dissected it clinically for them while Natasha sliced up the pizza.

“There is consistently a group of outliers in each grade,” Ava said.  “I identified that if these outliers were shown compassion and given the chance to speak for themselves— instead of being ignored or bullied— they can be intelligent and kind-hearted individuals.  I would strive to surround myself with such people.”

Steve smiled, one of his genuine, heartfelt smiles.  “That’s a good thing to aspire to.”

Ava smiled back. 

The conversation continued through dinner, though the topic shifted from Ava’s social life to movies and video games, and she and Sam wound up in a heated argument over Star Wars versus Star Trek.  Natasha sat back with a smirk on her lips, sharing looks of amusement with Steve every so often when Ava’s arguments turned passionate.

Later on, after Ava had gone to sleep on Natasha’s couch, she sat on her bed and felt just a bit lighter. 

* * *

Sharon was allowed to sleep, at least.  But she once again didn’t receive any food, and only received water when it became difficult to speak.  There was no sunshine today, as far as she could tell; just an overcast sky and a heavy feeling on her shoulders.  She tried to lose herself in the monotony of reading Russian words, but even that couldn’t shake off her unease.

If she had to guess, it was probably around midday when Yelena bolted upright, tension radiating off of her.

“Do not move,” she instructed, and a moment later Sharon was cursing herself for listening to her as Yelena had her in a chokehold.  She struggled briefly until she felt cold steel at her throat, but even the knife couldn’t stop the wave of relief she felt at the sight of Natasha stepping out of the kitchen, holding both hands out as though she was trying to calm a wild animal.

“There’s no point in threatening her, Yelena,” she said.  “I didn’t come alone.  You’re not getting out of this.”

Yelena’s breath was stirring Sharon’s hair, and she thought she felt her smile behind her.  Suddenly all that fear came rushing back.  She shot Natasha a look that she thought pretty clearly said, _You couldn’t have sent someone else?_

Natasha ignored it.

“I’m curious as to how you found us, Natalia,” Yelena said.

Natasha shrugged.  “Wasn’t that hard.  It’s almost like you wanted to be found.”

There was a crash in the kitchen, followed by a swear, and then a black-haired woman followed Natasha into the living room.  She took in the scene before her and blinked, looking from Natasha to Sharon and Yelena and back again.

“Seriously?” she said.

Natasha jerked her head towards her.  “This is my friend Jessica.  Jessica, this is Yelena and Sharon.  I trust you can figure out who is who.”

“I dunno, they’re both blond.”

“You’re not drunk right now.”

“Kinda wishing I was.”  But she— almost absently— brought her hands together, and the sound of cracking knuckles filled the otherwise-silent townhouse.  Sharon knew at once that it would be a mistake to underestimate her. 

Yelena sighed, her breath hitting the back of Sharon’s neck.  “Truthfully, I never intended for Sharon to die.  I merely wished to speak to you, Natalia.  Alone, preferably.”

None of them were expecting that, but Sharon’s sense of danger started screaming.  She couldn’t wrap her mind around why— it would make sense, after all, if Yelena wanted to regain her memories— but she still nearly shook her head when Natasha gave a slow nod of consent.  She was only stopped by the sharp look Natasha sent her.

Yelena released Sharon, who walked over to Natasha and Jessica.  Natasha reached out and touched her wrist, lightly, with her fingertips, and Sharon violently shoved back the action that she wanted to take— which was hug the living daylights out of Natasha, in favor of turning her hand upwards and skating two fingers along Natasha’s palm.

_Injured, but not badly._

Natasha smiled, and for a second Sharon thought her eyes seemed way too bright.

“Go on,” she said.  “I’ll be right behind you.”

Sharon resisted the urge to say _you’d better be_ , instead following Jessica back into the kitchen.  She closed the door behind her, but didn’t even bother with pretense as she pressed her ear against the door, listening in on whatever conversation Natasha and Yelena were having.  Jessica nudged her, forcing her to scoot over to make room for her.

“…can drop the pretense,” Natasha was saying.  Sharon hadn’t heard her sound that tired in a while.  “Just tell me what you want, Yelena.”

Sharon half expected Yelena to switch to Russian— she had no doubt that both women knew about their eavesdroppers— but to her surprise, she kept using English.  “I… I don’t think I want anything.  I don’t think I’m capable of wanting anything.  I just do things based off of what I know.  How else does one live?”

“You figure it out,” Natasha said.  “That’s what I had to do.  I mean, it took me years, but I managed it eventually.”

“Are you sure?  I haven’t forgotten what the Madame said to you, Natalia.  How she said that the reason why she created another iteration of the Red Room was because _you_ had inspired her, even though you were no longer a silent killer but rather a so-called ‘hero’.  Even now, even when you seemingly have your entire life turned around, your actions inspire horror.”

“The same can be said of all superheroes,” Natasha replied mildly.

“That is true,” Yelena acknowledged.  “But have you ever stopped to consider that the people who did it before look at you now and see you not as a failure, but as a _success_?  How do you think that will affect their decisions in the future?  You think they won’t try again, just because they can’t see the truth— that we’re abominations?”

“We’re not.”

“Then you are as deluded as the rest of them,” Yelena said.  There was an edge of desperation to her voice that Sharon recognized.  “You want to stop the Red Room?  If the Red Room is going to stop, then we have to fail so utterly and completely and they are discouraged beyond repair.  What is the one instinct that they drove into us, more than anything else?”

“Survival,” Natasha answered without hesitation.

“Exactly.”  And suddenly, Sharon knew what Yelena wanted.  She knew what Yelena intended to do.  She felt like she was moving through molasses, shoving Jessica out of the way and flinging the door open, just as Yelena brought the knife up and slashed downwards, her face contorted in— _sorrow?_

_She thinks this is a mercy._

Sharon somehow managed to crash into Yelena’s side before she could stab Natasha, landing hard on her dislocated arm.  Natasha was on top of Yelena a split second later, wresting the knife away from her.  If she was surprised by Yelena’s actions, she gave no hint to it, keeping cool as a cucumber on the surface in spite of the fact that Yelena had almost just murdered her.

“Fuck,” Jessica spat.  “What kind of company do you keep, Romanoff?”

Yelena didn’t struggle too much now that Natasha had her pinned, her eyes glimmering oddly.  Sharon let out a long breath, falling back against the wall and ignoring the way her heart was pounding.  She couldn’t think about the fact that she’d almost lost Natasha, she _couldn’t_ —

Natasha, who noticed her distress and turned towards her, with so much compassion on her face that Sharon could barely stand it— where did _that_ come from?  Natasha, who seemed to think it was over, who held the knife in a looser grip because she sent the most beautiful fucking smile Sharon had ever seen at her, and she suddenly felt like she couldn’t get any air in her lungs because— because—

Natasha, who didn’t see Yelena move.

Jessica did.

“ _Don’t_ —“ she yelled.

Yelena grabbed the hand that was holding the knife, but instead of trying to turn it on Natasha she brought it down, embedding it just to the left of her sternum.  Sharon almost screamed at the triumph in her eyes, the way she let her hand fall away from the hilt of the knife, and the way Natasha scrambled away from her, not even bothering to hide her own terror at how quickly it had all gone wrong.

“Oh god,” Sharon whispered, the only thing she felt like she was able to say.  “Oh _god_.”

* * *

Sharon slept in the hospital bed, hooked up to an I.V. and breathing deeply.  Her other shoulder had been popped back into place soon after they arrived at the Avengers compound, and Natasha had been the one holding icepacks against both shoulders while Sharon twisted her hands together in her lap.  She felt a mixture of burning rage and terror and sadness as she thought about what Sharon had been through, and what Yelena had just tried to do.

‘Tried’ being the operative word.  Natasha had to remind herself of that every few minutes.

Steve had come in a few minutes earlier, to tell her that Yelena was going to live.  His expression had been neutral when he said it, like he wasn’t sure that that was necessarily a good thing, but then guilt took over even as that thought crossed his mind.  Natasha had nodded and said nothing, so he left after a few moments of awkward silence.

The rest of the Avengers, she knew, would all agree that they ought to keep Yelena imprisoned for the time being.  She was going to be kept on constant suicide watch while she was in the hospital, and that was going to continue after she was released.

Natasha took a deep, shuddering breath.  It was only now, when there was no one around to witness it, that she even dared to let her hands shake. 

She hadn’t known what to expect when she walked into the derelict townhouse.  Yelena holding a knife to Sharon’s throat had been the least surprising part, but her own relief at Sharon being alright had been far stronger than expected, and her gratitude towards Sharon for saving her life— god, she was so…

She didn’t finish that thought.

Ava had been taken home to her parents, though not before Natasha had sternly told her that she would not be allowed to visit Yelena.  She knew that the day when Yelena and Ava were allowed to interact— if it ever came at all— was a long way away.  Ava seemed reluctant to accept that, but she had some idea of just how bad Yelena’s mental state was, and therefore acquiesced.

She continued to sit with Sharon until Steve eventually came back, gently guiding her out of the chair and back to her room.  He opened the door for her and gave her a patient look when she didn’t walk in right away, not backing down until she sighed and went in.  He somehow knew that she hadn’t slept the night before, when she still didn’t know where Sharon was.

For once, however, she didn’t seem to sleep long enough before she was startled awake by a knock at her door.  She got up, feeling groggy and aware that she needed a shower, and opened the door to find Sam standing there.

“Sharon’s awake,” he said.  “She’s been asking for you.”

Natasha, too tired for a verbal reply, nodded her thanks and took note of the time.  She’d slept for maybe six hours.

Sharon was sitting up when she arrived.  The I.V. had yet to be taken out, but she had a bowl of what looked like oatmeal in front of her in addition to that.  Sharon sent her a rueful smile when Natasha entered the room, gesturing down at the food.

“Apparently this is what you eat when you’ve been starved for a few days.”

Natasha was pretty sure that Sharon already knew that, but she went along with it.  “Yeah, and they don’t even let you put brown sugar in it.  It’s a damn tragedy.”

“How are you doing?”

Natasha rolled her eyes.  “Well, for starters I’m not in a hospital bed—“

“Really.  I hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ll be alright.”

Sharon digested that for a moment, her brow furrowed.  “Okay.  If you think that, then I believe you.”

Natasha looked down and tried (unsuccessfully) to hide a grin.  When she looked back up at Sharon, she made sure that her face was more composed, even though the half-smile that Sharon wore nearly put her off-balance.

“Thanks for saving my life,” Natasha said.  “Although I can’t help but notice that we’re three to one, in terms of how many times one of us has been pretty badly injured.”

“I wasn’t injured.  Just… deprived.”

“Tortured,” Natasha corrected her.  Sharon didn’t flinch.

“At least none of my hospital experiences have resulted in my almost-death.”

“You fell out of a building.”

“You got shot in the torso.  Twice.  In one day.”

Natasha raised both hands.  “This probably isn’t the sort of thing we want to turn into a competition.”

Sharon laughed.  “Probably not.”

At the very least, Sharon’s recovery time would probably be diminished compared to the last time she needed medical attention.  Natasha’s smirk faded at the memory— how she’d been partially responsible for Sharon’s subsequent injuries while she was still healing from her fall.  But she knew that there was no use in dwelling on it. 

“Steve told me that Yelena was going to be alright.”

Natasha smiled, but this time it was false.  “Define ‘alright’.”

“Was it like that for you?”  Almost as soon as she asked the question, Sharon was shaking her head.  “No, I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

Images flashed through Natasha’s head.  Buried under rubble, barely able to breathe.  Images flashing within images, only to be forgotten the moment she came out of it.  Staring down the shaft of an arrow, which at the time had seemed more like a savior than a death threat.  Wondering why— why he couldn’t have left her to die.

“There are similarities,” she admitted.  “But I… had someone who offered an alternative.  She never really did.  Still, she’s a grown adult.  She’s going to have to answer for this, and she’s not going to be allowed to walk free for a long time.  But she’ll have some psychiatric help, at least.”

Sharon breathed out.  Natasha didn’t know if it was in relief.

“At least Ava’s alright.  I didn’t let myself think about it because I knew there was nothing I could do about it, but…”

“You did what you had to.”

“Yeah.”  Sharon closed her eyes.  “There’s something else I need to tell you.  It… it all still kinda feels like a fever dream for me, but… Banner was there as well.  In the beginning.  Yelena took the two of us because we’re close to you.  She claimed it was because we were there when you got your memories back.  I get now that she was trying to lure you in.”

“Thanks for the heads-up.”  A thought occurred to Natasha.  “And he didn’t think to try to contact me?  Or any of us—to let us know where you were?”

“Yeah, about that.”  Sharon coughed.

It hit Natasha right then— the photo of Yelena, in the Walgreens.  The camera angle, now that she thought back on it, hadn’t been quite right (not for a surveillance camera, at least).  It hadn’t been high up enough, but then it wouldn’t have been, if a person had taken the picture instead of a surveillance camera.

“Wow,” she said.  “He actually managed to get a photo of her.  That was nice of him.  I mean, Yelena probably let it happen, but still.”

Sharon shrugged.  “You never know.”

“Could’ve just sent us the address.  Would’ve made it easier.”  But Natasha already knew why he didn’t— he didn’t want her finding him, following him.  Which was… that was his decision, to stay out of it as much as possible, and that meant getting the information to her in a way that didn’t make him look like the source. 

And Tony would cover for him.  Of course.

Natasha shifted, deciding a change in topic was in order.  “So,” she said, forcing a smile.  “Steve came to visit you, right?  By himself?”  She waggled her eyebrows for effect.

They’d played this game plenty of times before, which was why it was a surprise to her when Sharon suddenly looked exhausted.  “Don’t do that.”

Natasha blinked. 

“Don’t ask me that.”  Sharon’s gaze started to burn her, and Natasha found herself unable to look away.  “Don’t ask me about Steve.  I like him.  He’s a nice guy.  But that… that doesn’t have to be the topic you turn to whenever things get heavy.  And besides, he’s… he’s not the one I’m in love with, anyway, so what’s the point?”

Natasha nearly let out a squawk.  “Wait.  What?  You’re in love with someone and you didn’t tell me?”  Who cared if there was a slight sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach?  Her stomach was stupid.  “That’s— not cool.  You’re supposed to give me stuff to gossip about.”

Sharon laughed lowly.  “Where would I even start?”

The door opened behind them before Natasha could demand more information, and Helen walked in, smiling cordially.  “Excuse me, Natasha.  I need to change Sharon’s I.V. pack.”

“Of course.  I need breakfast anyway.”  Suddenly, Natasha did not want to hear about Sharon’s love life.  Which was selfish, because friends were supposed to listen, but…  “We’ll talk later, okay?”

Sharon’s expression was unreadable.  But she said, “Okay.”

* * *

‘Later’ turned out to be several days later, because Natasha wasn’t really all that great when it came to confronting her feelings.  She spent most of her time with one of the punching bags in the gym, berating herself for not realizing that her feelings for Sharon ran deeper than was normal.  Who knew that it could sneak up on her like this?

Natasha was never one to back down, but she remembered all too well what had happened the last time she’d made romantic overtures toward someone.

Her decision about what to do was made for her after she got back to her room, sweating from her workout and intending to take a shower.  There was a knock at her door, making her pause while she got herself a glass of water.  She knew it was probably Steve, wanting to ask her about a new training procedure, or Wanda looking for advice, or—

—or Sharon, looking just a little bit pissed off.

“You’re avoiding me.”  Sharon folded her arms.  “Not that it was hard to do, the first couple of days, since I was.  Y’know.  Bedridden.  But now it’s getting ridiculous.  We never even got to go out into town, like we were originally planning to do.”

Natasha erased her own apprehension.  “You’re allowed to come in, you know.”

“Thanks,” Sharon drawled.  “Well?  Are we going or not?  I mean, I’ll let you shower first— not that you don’t look attractive with the whole post-workout look—“

“You said you were in love with someone.”

That froze Sharon, like a deer in the headlights.  “I mean, it’s— it’s not a big deal.  I know nothing’s going to come of it, and the relationship that I already have with them is plenty fulfilling emotionally, even if it doesn’t go further— I value them too much to…”

“Sharon.”

Natasha’s heart was pounding, though she kept an iron grip on her body’s responses.  It could have been that she was experiencing wishful thinking, the way Sharon seemed to be suddenly avoiding eye contact.  But Natasha was very rarely wrong about things like this, and she knew that there _was_ a chance. 

And if there was, then…

She moved into Sharon’s personal space slowly, pausing, giving her the chance to back away.  She was starting to see hope shining through Sharon’s nerves, but she didn’t move any faster, gently pressing her lips to Sharon’s.  They were chapped, she noticed, but then she was a sweaty mess, so she couldn’t really talk. 

Sharon leaned into it for a moment, before they both backed away.  Natasha waited.

“Please tell me that we’ve actually been dating all these months and we never realized it,” Sharon breathed.

That startled a laugh out of Natasha— mostly because it was true.

“Probably,” she said.  “But since neither of us knew it— Sharon, would you like to go on a date with me?  In twenty minutes.”  She frowned as she realized something else.  “I’m pretty sure that Aelita knew about this before we did.”

“I would love to,” Sharon replied.  “And yeah, she totally knew.”

Natasha beamed, which almost hurt her face— it wasn’t an expression she used very often— and kissed Sharon again for good measure. 

“We’re holding hands,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for her bathroom.  “And I’m buying you flowers.”

“Roses or nothing, Romanoff,” Sharon yelled back.

* * *

Apart from the increased physical contact, it really wasn’t all that different from all of their other outings together.  Or maybe even all of the random moments they spent together, working to understand the other, to build a relationship together.  It wasn’t different from that.

But then, Sharon thought as they laced their fingers together, maybe that was the point.


End file.
